


Falls The Shadow

by Malivrag



Category: Bad Company, Led Zeppelin, Music RPF
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Multi, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10595211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malivrag/pseuds/Malivrag
Summary: Paul Rodgers is gang-pressed by Jimmy Page into being his date to Robert Plant's wedding. It's all for appearances... isn't it?





	1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

They broke the surface of the water, Paul sputtering and swearing as he fought to lift Jimmy's head above water.

"Jim! Jim! Stay with me!" But Jimmy didn't respond.

Paul heaved them towards the shore, only vaguely aware of the shouts of others running to meet them. Water was pouring from Jimmy's mouth. Paul dragged him onto the shore and went to work pumping his chest.

"Please, wake up!" pleaded Paul, before pinching Jimmy's nose and sealing his mouth with his own. He breathed deeply into him, forcing air into his lungs.

_Chapter One_

_two weeks earlier..._

Jimmy Page stared at the blank easel.

Searching for inspiration, he mindlessly tapped the paintbrush against his chin, lightly splattering himself with paint. "Oh, bollocks!" he swore. What was supposed to be a relaxing, creative experience was already going all sideways. Jimmy decided to cut his losses for now and sat the paintbrush down.

A stack of unread books sat forlornly in the corner. He had cracked open the covers of most of them, read a page or two, and put it aside "for later". Later was taking longer than he'd thought it might. He'd tried chanting and meditating but found it utterly boring. His kitchen was filled with top quality pots and pans and ingredients, but he had no one to cook for. Even meaningless sex wasn't interesting him anymore. Jimmy Page had been clean from drugs for going on a full year, and he was bored out of his mind.

He'd dearly love to play music, but even that was proving difficult. Poor dear Bonzo was dead, John Paul Jones wasn't taking his calls, and Robert was busy being head over heels in love with some girl. Jimmy would gladly put a band together with someone else, but it seemed like everyone was intimidated by him. He wasn't Jimmy the session player anymore; he was Jimmy Page, the dark wizard of rock and roll, the earthshaker, the mad genius. His hype machine had done it's job too well, creating a monster that intimidated everyone. Jimmy wasn't sure why, and he also wasn't sure what to do about it. Almost the only person who wasn't too afraid to mention the word 'guitar' in his presence was his old friend, Paul Rodgers.

His phone began ringing, Jimmy wedging the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he wiped at the paint on his chin. "Yeah?"

"Jimjam!" Oh god, it was Robert. He sounded happy, deliriously happy, which was enough to make Jimmy feel exhausted. "Oh, you're in for a surprise! Jessie and I are getting married!"

Jimmy was so shocked that he turned his head towards the receiver, smearing paint all over it. "Fuck!"

"Jimjam? Why are you swearing? Aren't you happy for us?"

"Ah, yes, yes, very happy for you," said Jimmy, as he dragged the phone halfway across the room to peer into a mirror. "I'm just tangled up with the phone cord, is all. Wait, did you say you're getting married?"

"That's right."

"... Is Jessie a girl?" Jimmy couldn't really bring to mind anyone named Jessie. How out of touch was he? He was really a rotten friend sometimes.

"Yes, Jessie's a girl." Robert sighed dramatically into the phone. "I should've known you wouldn't care. I was calling to invite you to the wedding and to share in our joy, and you're oblivious as always."

The back door to Jimmy's studio opened and shut with a slam. Paul Rodgers, clad in his comfortable slacks and a white button-down shirt, strolled in carrying a box of curry takeout.

"I'm sorry, Percy, really I am. I'm just distracted is all..." Jimmy tried desperately to salvage the situation. "Of course I'll come to the wedding. It's my pleasure. Where and when is it?" He tried to intercept Paul, making gestures at the phone while mouthing 'Robert Plant' at him, but mostly succeeded in knocking everything off his table with the phone cord. Paint brushes and some strong smelling cleaner clattered to the floor.

"It's in Hawaii, on the fifteenth of next month. Isn't that just delightful? Can't you just see the surf, the sun, the hula girls in your mind's eye?"

Paul shrugged at him, perched on the table, opened his container of curry, and began eating. Jimmy's stomach rumbled at the smell.

"The hotel's all booked, no need to make arrangements. Just get yourself on the plane! Oh, and of course you'll bring a plus one," Robert went on.

"A plus one?" Jimmy stared longingly at the food going into Paul's mouth, the way his tongue flicked across his lips after every delicious bite...

"A wedding date," said Robert. "You must bring someone special, Pagey. This is the most romantic place on Earth, on the most important day of my life."

Jimmy dropped to his knees and began raking the knocked-over painting supplies into his lap. A wedding date! Where was he supposed to find a wedding date? He didn't really know anyone, at least no one he could imagine sharing a hotel room with for two or three days. His interaction with women was mostly limited to looking up at them through his hair and having them fall all over him. None of them ever stuck around once they realized what a socially maladjusted only child he really was -- none but Charlotte, the mother of his daughter, but she had a new lover and no time for him.

"Jimjam? Are you there?" Robert asked in his ear.

Jimmy looked up at Paul Rodgers. There was always Paul... Paul the blues-soaked singer for Free and then for Bad Company. Paul who was a pair of eyebrows with a mouth. Paul who still treated Jimmy like a human being. He should just take Paul with him. I like him better than just about anyone else I know. He rose to his feet and tossed the painting supplies in the general direction of his table.

"I'm bringing Paul Rodgers," Jimmy said.

"What?" Robert sounded incredulous.

Paul almost choked on his curry. "Taking me where?" he asked, as Jimmy slapped him on the back, leaving a handprint in paint between Paul's shoulder blades.

"To Hawaii," Jimmy told him over the tinny sound of Robert yelling on the phone. He wedged the phone back up against his ear and said, "Percy, it's all decided. I'll see you on the fifteenth."

"Check-in is on the thirteenth," Robert told him.

"Then I'll see you then."

"Why are we going to Hawaii?" Paul demanded as soon as Jimmy hung up.

"Robert's getting married," Jimmy explained. "And I've got to have a wedding date. Paul, I can't go alone. I can't face him without someone being there with me."

"So you're bringing me! We're not..." Paul groped for the right words. "Lovers, Jimmy."

Jimmy picked up the forgotten box of curry and dug in. "You must do this for me. I'll pay for everything, just... let him think whatever he wants to think." Jimmy couldn't bear the pitying looks he would no doubt receive if he arrived solo. The great Jimmy Page, without even a wedding date. He'd throw himself into the Thames before he let that happen.

Paul gave him a long, searching look. Then he sighed and looked away. "This must mean something to you. Fine. I'll come with you."

Jimmy's eyes rolled back in his head in relief. "You're saving my life, you've no idea," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy and Paul arrive in Hawaii, to find someone waiting for them. Featuring Ritchie Blackmore from Deep Purple.

Jimmy and Paul met up at London's airport for what would prove to be a very long trip by aeroplane. First, they would fly to New York, then New York to Los Angeles, and then onto Hawaii. Jimmy shuffled into First Class and solemnly regarded the seat that would, no doubt, be molded to the shape of his arse by the time they made it across the pond.

Not so many years ago, he would've made the same trip on Led Zeppelin's private plane, with a girl on his lap and a Nazi hat on his head, stoned out of his mind the entire way. Today, Jimmy kept the decadence to a minimum, ordering only a glass of wine from the pretty stewardess.

Paul boarded the plane and began wrestling his own luggage into the overhead compartment. "Need a hand?" Jimmy asked him.

Paul grunted and began shoving at the luggage rather more forcefully than necessary.

"I'm sure the stewardess would be glad to check that for you," Jimmy told him helpfully.

Paul paused, one hand resting on the luggage, the other coming to rest at his waist. "I'm just working out some frustration. Leave me to it."

Ah. Jimmy assumed it was something to do with Paul's band, Bad Company. For such a group of upstanding blokes, they got on one another's nerves something fierce. Perhaps that was why Paul sought him out so frequently; he was seeking refuge from his inter-band quarrels. Jimmy realized with a start that this was the first time he'd really pondered on why Paul was always at his house.

Having secured his luggage at last, Paul dropped into his seat next to Jimmy. He put his seat in full recline, folded his hands across his lap, and pursed his lips. After a moment, feeling Jimmy's eyes on him, Paul turned his head and said, "...what?"

Sweat broke out on his brow. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You're staring at me."

"When?"

Paul's mouth was now a full pout. "You're doing it right now."

"I'm just--" Jimmy tried to find something interesting to look at through the pitifully small window. "Wondering what you're thinking about."

The stewardess came by to tell them that the plane was about to take off, and the strange moment passed, much to Jimmy's relief. Once they got into the air, he got his glass of wine and downed it. Paul took out a piece of paper and began scratching at it with a pen.

Paul caught him trying to look over his shoulder. "What now?"

"Just curious, is all." Jimmy tried to play it cool. "What are you writing?"

"I like to write lyrics during plane rides," Paul told him. "S'a good way to pass the time."

"Can I see?" Jimmy tried to sound casual, like he didn't really care if Paul showed him the lyrics or not.

Paul gave him a look, and then handed the paper over.

Mystery surrounds me and I wonder where I'm going/There's a cloud above me and it seems to hide the way/I'm going straight ahead 'cause it's the only way I know/I wanna leave the past and live just for today

"You just wrote this?" Jimmy asked him.

Paul snatched the paper back from him. "It's based on some things I've been thinking and feeling for some time. About how I'm feeling, and who's making me feel that way."

Jimmy didn't know what to say to that, but Paul yawned and made it known that he was tired and wanted some sleep, so Jimmy closed the window to block out the light. Paul affixed his sleeping mask and went out like a light; like most rock stars, he was a veteran at falling asleep on aeroplanes, tour buses, strange hotel rooms, and backstage areas across the world. Jimmy settled in himself, but just as he began to doze off, soft whimpering sounds caught his attention. He cracked open an eye to see Paul fidgeting in his sleep, the corners of his mouth twisting in a grimace. A nightmare? Perhaps I should wake him, thought Jimmy. He shifted closer and went to shake Paul, but something stilled his hand. Instead, he gently brushed the knuckles of his hand to Paul's cheek. Paul's stubble scratched at his skin. Paul inhaled deeply, then the tension seemed to melt out of him. He breathed out deeply, relaxing into his seat, and the nightmares troubled him no more.

Proud of himself for a job well done, Jimmy laid back and fell asleep.

They woke up on landing at New York, grabbed breakfast and switched planes. No sooner were they in the air again, but Jimmy fell back asleep. He awoke a couple of hours later to find Paul napping beside him. They were flying over America's heartland, a patchwork quilt of farms laid out beneath them. Held loosely in Paul's hand was that same piece of paper. Jimmy gingerly took it from him and read the new lyrics.

Head upon the highway just as fast as I could go/I rode through the night and halfway through the day/I had no direction, I didn't even want to know where I was going/The only thing I knew was that I had to get away

"'Ey, that's personal," grumbled Paul as he woke to find Jimmy reading his lyrics sheet. He sat up in his seat, stretched, and smacked his lips.

"They're beautiful," Jimmy told him. "You should turn this into a love song."

Paul grunted and twisted about. "Where's the stewardess? I could use a drink, I could."

"She must be something special," Jimmy said. "The chick who's making you feel this way, I mean."

Paul turned to him, and the look on his face was a little troubled and searching. A thousand subtle expressions flitted across his features. He drug his hands through his hair and said, "Yeah. Very special."

Jimmy returned his paper to him and tried changing the subject. "I don't even know this chit of a girl Robert's marrying."

Paul's jaw clenched. "Are you cross with him?"

"Whatever would I be cross with him for?"

"Marrying this chick. Whoever she is."

"He hardly needs my approval," Jimmy said. Who the hell was he to tell Robert who he should marry and who he shouldn't? He'd made a mess of every personal relationship he'd ever had. No one wanted Jimmy Page's relationship advice.

Paul looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. He pointedly looked out the window opposite of them, his way of avoiding the subject at hand. They sat in silence till they landed in L.A. and boarded the last flight for Hawaii.

They ambled through the airport, looking for their driver to the hotel, when Paul grabbed Jimmy by the crook of the arm and dragged him behind some potted plants. "Don't look," Paul warned him in a low voice. "Whatever you do, don't look."

"Look at what? Why are we hiding in a ficus?"

Paul had gone white as a sheet. "It's Ritchie Blackmore. He's here. He's found me."

Blackmore? Against Paul's orders, Jimmy peered through the foliage. There, by the luggage carousel, stood the legendary guitarist of Deep Purple and (most recently) Rainbow, owl-fancier, and all around malevolent human being, Ritchie Blackmore. He was even wearing his pilgrim hat.

"So? He's probably another wedding guest," said Jimmy. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure Robert had ever met Ritchie, even in passing. He certainly couldn't imagine them being friendly enough for Robert to invite him to the wedding, but it must be the case.

Paul shook his head. "No, you don't understand. He's here for me. He's been trying to convince me to be his musical partner."

Oh, yes. Ritchie always did love Paul's voice. Jimmy wasn't sure Ritchie liked his own mother, but he liked Paul Rodgers.

"Well, we can't hide in here forever. We've got to get to the hotel," Jimmy told him.

"If he sees us together, god only knows what he'll do," said Paul very seriously. "I saw him giving Mick Ralphs this look once, like Ritchie would kick him in front of a bus if he got a chance. He might scratch your eyes out if he saw us together."

That gave Jimmy pause. He was a lover, not a fighter; but Ritchie Blackmore was a fighter through and through, utilizing his guitar, explosives, soda bottles, or even plates of spaghetti against anyone that stood in his way. He looked about for a way out of this hell. Salvation came in the form of a porter pushing a giant luggage rack on wheels. Jimmy and Paul waited for their chance, sprang out from their hiding place, and hid behind the luggage rack as it was wheeled through the airport. In this way they made it outside and jumped in the first cab they saw.

"Drive, drive!" Paul begged the cabbie.


	3. Chapter 3

They'd made it to the hotel, got their keys and were on their way up to their room, when something occurred to Jimmy. "Why does old Blackmore have you so spooked?" he asked Paul. "Aren't you a ninja or something of the sort?"

"Martial artist," clarified Paul as they stepped into the elevator. "I'm not afraid that Ritchie would attack me. Quite the opposite. He says he wants me to be his musical partner but I... I think he wants more than that." He was suddenly overcome with twitches and nervous ticks, which was very unlike Paul. "I think he wants me to be his... life partner. If you get my meaning."

"Life partner?" Jimmy couldn't conceive of what Paul was getting at.

Paul huffed in annoyance. "He wants to have sex with me, Jimmy! Homosexual sex! He wants to fuck me in the arse!"

The elevator dinged and the door slid open just at the loudest moment of Paul's outburst. A middle-aged American couple stood there, gaping at them. Paul's face colored. The door dinged and slid shut again, the American couple wisely deciding not to join them on the elevator ride.

Paul slumped against the wall of the elevator, looking perfectly miserable.

As they resumed their ascent, Jimmy mulled over what Paul had said. Could it be true that Ritchie Blackmore wanted to have his wicked way with him? Jimmy had known Ritchie for years, and knew without a doubt that Ritchie was rampantly heterosexual. Did he make an exception for Paul Rodgers? Perhaps he had a thing for singers. God, if so, that casts his relationship with Gillan in a whole new light, thought Jimmy. To Paul, he said, "Well, have you told him to leave you be? That you don't want to be fucked in the arse?"

Paul's face somehow got even redder. "Just how do you tell someone that? I tried to ignore him but he's so persistent, it's like being the prettiest girl at the party."

Jimmy found Paul rather charming when he was flustered. "Ah, feeling flattered, are we? You should go to bed with him. You might like it."

Paul looked like he was ready to faint. "I-I-have you ever been to bed with a man?"

"Sure I have," said Jimmy casually. "With Robert." Which was true, they'd tried to have sex once back in the '70s, when they were both high and something so preposterous seemed like a good idea. Jimmy had been all spindly back then, and with his lack of upper body strength, he hadn't been able to get Robert out of his skin-tight blue jeans. They'd both found that very funny and began giggling, and the moment had passed.

The elevator dinged as they arrived at their floor. Paul almost ran over Jimmy in his haste to escape the elevator. Was it something I said? wondered Jimmy. Perhaps the homo sex confession had been a bit too much, even if Jimmy and Robert hadn't even made it to second base. Paul seemed more upset than before.

The hotel room was magnificent, with incredible views of the beach out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Jimmy pulled off his shoes and sank his toes into the luxurious carpeting. Paul, meanwhile, was horrified by what he saw. "There's only one bed!" he cried.

Oh. Well, Robert had booked the room assuming that Jimmy was bringing a romantic partner here. Of course the assumption was they'd be sharing a bed. Paul tossed a pillow at him and said, "Sleep on the couch."

"The hell I'm sleeping on the couch, this is my hotel room," said Jimmy. "You sleep on the couch."

Paul looked as though he were debating their options. He looked from Jimmy to the bed, then at the couch. The bed was magnificent, bigger than some European principalities, and topped off with fat, fluffy pillows. Paul began building a barrier with these pillows, saying, "We'll share. You must stay on your side. You cannot come over here."

"As though I'd come over to your side," sniffed Jimmy. He went to change in the bathroom. It was early evening in Hawaii, but years of touring had trained his internal clock to adjust to time differences. He wasn't even hungry, so he decided to turn in early tonight.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Paul had fallen asleep in the bed, almost buried in the comforter. Poor thing, the flight and the shock of running into lovelorn Blackmore had taken it out of him. Jimmy crawled into his side of the bed, peeping over the wall of pillows to check that Paul looked comfortable, before laying his head down and finding his own rest.


	4. Chapter 4

The alarm on the bedside radio clock blasted Jimmy out of a sound sleep. He smacked at it, and was rewarded by the fuzzy sounds of The Faces' "Stay With Me" playing on the radio.

Jimmy blearily looked around. He was alone in the hotel room; the rumpled sheets were the only proof that Paul had even slept there. He felt oddly discomfited to wake and find Paul gone. For some reason, he would've liked to open his eyes and see Paul's sleeping face laying across from him.

Where did that thought come from? Jimmy wondered as he shuffled to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He and Paul were barely friends. Well, that wasn't quite right. He liked Paul better than just about anyone else he knew. He was one of the few people that talked to Jimmy like a human being, not cowering and boot-licking. Paul obviously liked his company, as well; he was always at Jimmy's house, and had even agreed to this wedding date farce.

Jimmy heard a key in the lock. He quickly washed the toothpaste from his mouth and emerged from the bathroom just as Paul came into the hotel room.

Paul was wearing slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his dark chest hair. His eyes were hidden behind Aviator sunglasses, and his hair, tossled by the ocean breezes, framed his face in loose, dark curls. He looked good, thought Jimmy, great even. Had Paul always been this good-looking? Why did he feel like he was just now noticing?

Paul sat a paper bag on the little table in the corner, reached into it, and pulled out a ripe tropical fruit. He tossed it to Jimmy, who caught it from mid-air. "What's this for?" Jimmy asked, turning the fruit this way and that. It was an unreal purplish color, tinged with green.

"It's a dragonfruit," Paul told him. "It's for you. You had this hungry look on your face."

Choosing not to reply to that, Jimmy took a bite of the fruit, sticky juices running down his chin.

"What's on the schedule for today?" Paul asked him.

"There's some rehearsal thing going on this evening on the beach by the hotel," said Jimmy. "Robert's supposed to meet us in the lobby in..." he glanced at the clock. "Thirty minutes."

"The beach!" That brought a smile to Paul's face. "We'll go surfing."

"If you want to see me drown, you'll put me on a surfboard," said Jimmy. "I can't swim."

"Not at all?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Not for love or money."

The phone rang. Answering it, Jimmy could hear the perky voice of the lady at the front desk. "Mr. Page, there's a Mr. Plant here to see you--"

"Pagey!" That was Robert in the background.

"You're a bit early. I wasn't expecting you for another thirty minutes." Jimmy began to tug on his shoe, remembering only after he'd pulled it on that he was still in his pajama pants. Shamefacedly, he removed the shoe, and then caught his trousers from mid-air as Paul tossed them at him. He shimmied out of his pajamas, hopping into his trousers with the phone still wedged under his chin.

"Jessie's here!" That was Robert again. "Come down and meet her!"

"We'll be right down," promised Jimmy, hanging up the phone and then twirling in a circle to extricate himself from the phone cord. Paul was sitting at the table, devouring that dragonfruit with gusto, watching Jimmy get dressed with an intent expression on his face.

A few minutes later, more or less dressed, Paul and Jimmy took the elevator down to the lobby and were enthusiastically greeted by Robert and a young woman who must be Jessie. She was exactly Robert's type: brunette, big smile, slender, and of indeterminate ethnic origin.

"Oh, Jimjam!" Robert actually pinched his cheeks. "Look at those bags under your eyes. Someone didn't sleep much last night!" He elbowed first Jimmy and then Paul, winking to make his meaning known.

Paul looked as though he was ready to be sacrificed to the volcano god if it meant he didn't have to endure any more of this humiliation.

"Err, it's not what you think," Jimmy started to say, but was cut off as Robert and Jessie began to kiss. And grope one another. And make out. Robert and Jessie were not to be left alone in any room with a horizontal surface, Jimmy noted.

Paul interrupted Robert's determined attempt to inseminate Jessie right there on the hotel lobby futon by saying, "Let's go on a walk along the beach, shall we?"

The wedding rehearsal was being held under a number of billowing white tents on the beach, in front of the most beautiful view one could possibly imagine. "Of course the wedding will take place against the backdrop of the sunset," Robert told them dreamily. "We'll release doves right before the handfasting ceremony."

Paul scratched at his chest hair.

The bunches of flowers were making Jimmy's allergies go wild. He wiped at his watering eyes, saying, "Don't mind me, I'm just so emotional."

Jimmy and Paul sat down in the first row of chairs to watch Jessie practice her walk down the aisle. "There's to be a luau tonight," Jimmy told Paul. "I think they're going to roast a pig or something of the sort."

"Should we wear grass skirts?"

Swooping out of nowhere like a bird of prey, Ritchie Blackmore slid into the seat next to Paul. He wore all black, and despite the bright tropical sun, he was not sweating. In his hands he held a rose.

"Christ Jesus!" swore Paul. "You gave me a fright, you did! I near to jumped out of my skin!"

"Are you even invited to this wedding?" Jimmy asked Blackmore.

Ritchie ignored him. "Paul, I brought you this," he said, offering Paul the rose.

Paul went white as chalk. "I can't accept your rose, Ritchie. I'm terribly allergic and I'll break out in hives and I-I'm with Jimmy now." He clutched at Jimmy's knee, as though hanging on for dear life.

Ritchie fixed Jimmy with his glare, and at once Jimmy knew the meaning of the phrase "green-eyed monster". Ritchie was not the biggest nor the burliest fellow, but he had a tightly-wound tension, like a whip ready to crack and take the skin off you.

Paul hopped to his feet and squeezed out of the row of chairs, abandoning Jimmy to his fate.

"So." Ritchie somehow managed to snarl a single syllable. "You may think you've won Paul's love, but this battle has just begun, Page. May the best man win." With that, he opened his mouth, bit the head off the rose, and spat the petals on the ground at Jimmy's feet.

Jimmy gulped.


	5. Chapter 5

Jimmy stood up and _ran away_ from Blackmore -- although he preferred to think of his hasty retreat as _running towards_ Paul Rodgers. At least he had the presence of mind to follow the footprints in the sand down the beach.

He found Paul sprawled out on the sand, hands thrown over his head, the ocean water swirling around him. He was soaked, his shirt and trousers almost transparent and molded to his body. Jimmy came to stand next to him.

"Whatever are you doing?"

"I'm reenacting that scene from 'And God Created Woman'," Paul told him. "You know, where the fellow is laying on the beach and Bardot walks up to him."

"Am I Brigitte Bardot, then?" Jimmy asked.

Paul squinted up at him. "You're no vision of Brigitte Bardot I've ever had, but right now I'll take what I can get."

"What happens next in the film?" For the life of him, Jimmy couldn't remember anything about that movie other than the actress's bare bum.

"He trips her and she falls down in the surf."

"Oy, don't trip me, I'll put myself down," said Jimmy, lowering himself to sit beside Paul. The rushing water splashed over him, and he sputtered a bit. He'd never spent much time in the ocean, not being a swimmer, and he was struck by the burning of the salt in his nose, the spray in his eyes.

Paul grinned at him, but all of a sudden his smile vanished. "I don't know what to do about Ritchie. I just don't."

Jimmy contemplated the horizon. "Love makes fools of us all. It's just your luck that old Blackmore has chosen to be a fool over you."

Paul asked him, very softly, "Have you ever been in love? Really in love?"

"Oh, yes. I was very deeply in love." It wasn't Charlotte's face that came to mind, if Jimmy was telling the truth. His relationship with her had been all lust, in the beginning, and then a sort of obligation centered around their daughter. No, he thought of Jackie DeShannon, his American dream, his Tangerine Queen. The first time he'd lain eyes on her, Jimmy had found it hard to swallow.

"We're both musicians," Jimmy went on. "It's hard for creative types to be together. My great love decided to marry someone else."

Paul watched him, and there was something deeply sad about him. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, don't be," said Jimmy in a tone more jovial than he felt. "Gave me plenty of good material for songs! Anyway, let's get up and get changed." He stood, almost falling again as the tide rushed up around his legs, and helped Paul to his feet. They stumbled back to the hotel, arms around one another, and for some reason, Jimmy didn't want to pull away. He had never been one for a lot of physical contact -- he'd never become accustomed to it -- but Paul's embrace felt good to him. Right, somehow.

They changed into dry clothes, and ambled back down for the luau Robert and Jessie were hosting that evening. Hula girls greeted them, slipping leis around their necks and beckoning them to sit with the other guests. A roast pig turned on a spit, dripping juices and making the fire hiss. In the midst of it all sat Robert and Jessie, resplendent in their pre-wedding finery, soaking up the attention from well-wishers.

Paul drank some sort of fruity tropical drink, and it put him into a good mood, easy smiles and cheeks blossoming with roses. He took to leaning on Jimmy, laughing at even his weak jokes like they were masterpieces of comedy.

The crowd parted around Ritchie Blackmore as he stormed up to them. He thrust a guitar at Jimmy and said, "Do your worst, Page."

"What's got into you, Ritchie?" asked Jimmy, genuinely befuddled. Why had Ritchie handed him a guitar?

Beside him, Paul grabbed another of those fruity cocktails and downed it as fast as he could.

"Duel me, you son of the devil," said Blackmore. "And Paul will see who is the true master of the guitar."

The idea was so preposterous that Jimmy just gaped at him. Ritchie wanted them to duel on guitars... with Paul's love at stake? Did Ritchie know that wasn't how you won over the one that you loved? Wait, this is Ritchie Blackmore we're talking about, thought Jimmy. Of course he thinks he can win over Paul with a guitar solo.

"How nice, Pagey!" crowed Robert from across the room. Curses, he'd spotted Jimmy with a guitar in his hands. "Do play for us!"

Jimmy wondered if he could just throw himself into the ocean and be done with this.

"Err, Ritchie, you ought to go first," Jimmy said, handing the guitar back to him. "I'm a bit rusty."

Ritchie scowled at him, but immediately fired up the guitar, making it scream. Ritchie's precision and shredding were legendary. His hands forced the guitar to sing of his tortured soul, all the passion that he had trouble expressing in words. The sonic onslaught almost knocked Jimmy off his feet. If Ritchie could've slain him with a guitar solo, he would be but ashes and dust right now.

As the guitar wailed out it's last note, Ritchie turned to Paul and announced, "That instrumental is called 'We're Meant To Be Together'."

Jimmy's nerves were almost shot. Paul looked like he was ready to run back to the hotel room and never come out. Robert was cheering for Ritchie and encouraging Jimmy to play, obviously not at all comprehending what was at stake here.

He thought back to, of all things, those snippets of lyrics that Paul had been working on during their flight. What would they sound like, set to music? Taking the guitar from Ritchie, Jimmy strummed the strings, summoning forth something atmospheric, more like an oncoming shower, not Ritchie's hurricane of a few minutes before. He could never match Ritchie when it came to musical theory, but he had every bit the feeling, the emotional depth. As Paul's lyrics came to mind, Jimmy swayed back and forth a bit, bringing the song to life.

When he finished, Jimmy didn't even notice the clapping, or the fury in Blackmore's eyes. He was blind and deaf to them all. The only thing that mattered was the awestruck expression on Paul's face. For a moment, although they were surrounded by people, there was no one there but them. Paul whispered, "That was my song, wasn't it?"

Jimmy nodded. He was finding it hard to swallow.

"I knew it. I knew it." Paul inhaled deeply. "Beautiful, Jimmy. Just perfect."


	6. Chapter 6

"Wasn't Pagey magnificent, luv?" Robert asked Jessie. He was preening as though he'd been the one to duel Blackmore on guitar for the hand of Paul Rodgers and win.

"Just magnificent!" Jessie agreed. Jimmy squirmed under their attention. Robert, Jessie, and the members of their wedding party had ringed him 'round, cutting him off from Paul, who hung back by the bar.

Another dark-haired girl, a bridesmaid or something of the sort, pouted at Jimmy over her drink. "I thought there'd be more rock stars at this party."

Robert and Jessie had got back to passionately kissing and groping one another's bums, so Jimmy jumped at the chance to turn his back on them and engage someone else in conversation. "You've seen at least four tonight," he told her. "Robert, myself, Blackmore, and Paul Rodgers."

"Who's that?" the girl asked, looking about.

Jimmy pointed him out to her. "The singer of Free and Bad Company."

She sniffed. "I meant sexy rock stars. He's not exactly an oil panting, now is he?"

Jimmy felt as though she'd plunged a knife into his heart. How could she talk about Paul like that? He was more offended than if she'd said something critical of him. There was nothing at all wrong with Paul -- or the way he looked -- if anything, Paul was the best-looking chap here. Sexy enough, by Jimmy's reckoning.

Jimmy reached over, took the cherry from her drink, bit into it, and tossed the stem back into her glass. "Get your eyes checked, why don't you," he told her, before turning on his heel and pushing his way past Robert and Jessie. He went straight for Paul and caught him by the elbow.

"Jimmy!" Paul seemed elated to be by his side once more. "I -- I'm tired. I think I've had a bit too much to drink."

Jimmy ordered him a water, made sure he took a few sips, then excused them both to escort Paul back to the hotel.

By the time Jimmy got him back to their hotel room, Paul was hiccoughing so much, Jimmy half-expected to see pink bubbles float from his mouth, like that scene in Dumbo. Thankfully, Paul was just on this side of pleasantly drunk, not having quite enough to tip him over into sloppy or belligerent territory.

"Come on then, let's get you to sleep," Jimmy said, guiding Paul to the edge of the bed. He knelt before him and began untying Paul's shoes for him.

Paul giggled and fell backwards into a sprawl. "I can't believe it. Hic! I'm in your bed!"

"S'your bed, as well," Jimmy pointed out, tossing one shoe over his shoulder.

"I've dreamt of this for so long," sighed Paul, tossing his arms over his head and pressing his hips down, as though somehow trying to meld himself to the mattress. It occurred to Jimmy that Paul may be drunker than he'd thought.

Jimmy stood up and leaned over Paul, going to work on his belt buckle. "Izzat so?"

"Oh, yes. Hic!" Paul arched up, bracing himself on one elbow, his free hand clasping around Jimmy's own hand, holding him close. His eyes were open, but he didn't seem to actually see Jimmy. "But I've been afraid to dream for so long. I felt this way once before and got my poor heart broken."

"Do you think I'll break your heart?" Jimmy asked him in a whisper.

"Yes," said Paul. "I think -- you --" His eyelids fluttered, and he was so near to Jimmy that their lips nearly brushed. But his grip went slack on Jimmy's hand, and in that same moment, Paul collapsed back onto the bed, snoring softly.

He had fallen asleep.

Jimmy blinked. "That was a moment, wasn't it?" he asked Paul's unconscious form. "We were having a moment, and you've fallen asleep!"

He left Paul sleeping on the bed, and went into the bathroom to wash up. As he brushed his teeth, Jimmy studied his reflection in the mirror. When did he get so old? Jimmy pondered the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the telltale silvery hairs in his once raven-black mane. He'd been such a vain thing a few years ago. The drugs had done a number on him, and time wasn't proving to be a friend. God, Paul could do better than him. Perhaps he should encourage him to give old Blackmore a chance. Ritchie at least was holding up in the looks department.

He laid down on the couch and wondered who had broken Paul's heart. Who had made him afraid to dream? Poor Koss? It must've been, Jimmy decided. I'm the last thing Paul needs, thought Jimmy. Another troubled guitarist self-destructing in front of his eyes. He's better off without me.


	7. Chapter 7

Paul woke up with a pounding headache. His stomach lurched, and for a moment he thought he would be sick; he stumbled into the bathroom and drank from the faucet. The cool water seemed to settle him, and after a minute or two the sick feeling subsided.

He emerged from the bathroom to find that the sun hadn't yet risen. Only nature moved -- the crashing waves, the fronds of the tropical trees swaying in the breeze. Every human being slumbered on still. Including Jimmy, who Paul found asleep on the couch. He looked rather fetching with his hands together as though in prayer, his face tucked into his hands, his curls framing his face. Jimmy pursed his lips slightly as he slept, as though awaiting a kiss.

Paul groaned. "You made me break promises I made to myself," he whispered to sleeping Jimmy.

Not for the first time, Paul thought that he should have turned Jimmy down flat when he asked him to come along to Hawaii. Made up some outrageous story -- I'm allergic to aeroplane food! I'm a wanted man in all fifty American states! I have a highly contagious strain of Algerian bird flu and I'm banned from all intercontinental travel! Anything to get out of it. But Paul could deny Jimmy nothing.

He didn't feel like going back to sleep right away, so Paul took the room keys and headed down to the lobby. A walk in the cool night's air would clear his head. Once out of the hotel, he headed down toward the beach, following the same path from earlier in the day. Up ahead, he found the white tents, all ready for the wedding ceremony, and as he walked among them, the breeze brought to him the sound of someone crying.

Paul found Ritchie Blackmore sitting in the wet sand, looking out across the dark ocean. His guitar was in his lap. Ritchie looked smaller and more fragile than in his imaginings. He came and sat beside Blackmore, folding his hands in his lap.

Wiping his face and nose miserably, Blackmore turned to him and croaked, "Come to see me cry over you?"

"It's not at all like that," soothed Paul. "I'm heartbroken to see you in such a state, I really am. Especially over me. There's no cause."

Ritchie choked out another sob. "Haven't you your lover to sleep beside?"

Paul studied his hands. "As for that... I'm a fool to be in love with someone, who's in love with another."

Sniffling, Ritchie turned to look right at him. "Page doesn't love you in turn? What a twit."

"It's my own fault. I promised myself no more giving my heart away, and I broke that promise. Now I'm suffering for it. So, you see, we're two of a kind, you and I."

Ritchie stroked the strings on his guitar. His expression was at once morose and tender, his thick brows quirked so they almost touched in the middle. "I wish that you would love me."

Paul stood and brushed sand from his trousers. "Please don't suffer over me. There's no cause. For now, I've got to see this thing to the end. Get my heart broken, again." He offered his hand to Ritchie, and after a moment spent coolly staring up at him, Ritchie accepted it and allowed Paul to pull him to his feet.

"Did you find me repellent, when I acted so foolishly in pursuit of you?" For the first time, Ritchie couldn't look him in the eyes. He stared out at the ocean again, as though he couldn't bear to be this vulnerable.

Paul shook his head. "You're not repellent. You put all you've got into your passions. I suppose you wouldn't be the legend you are if you didn't."

That seemed to ease Ritchie's aching soul, and he began to follow Paul back toward the hotel. The rising sun was now burning the edges of the horizon crisp yellows and reds. Paul saw Ritchie off to the door of his hotel room, and then went back upstairs to his own room. Jimmy was right where he'd left him, sleeping peacefully on the couch, dreaming of kisses that weren't Paul's.

"I've only been gone an hour, but I missed you," Paul whispered to him, daring to say more to Jimmy asleep than awake. He even indulged himself by stroking a curl, then collapsed back in the bed, refusing to torment himself further.


	8. Chapter 8

The bright morning light pricked at Jimmy's eyelids until he reluctantly cracked them open. He sat up on the couch, stretched, and looked about blearily. Another perfect day in paradise: glorious sunshine, waves crashing on the beach, and Paul Rodgers sitting cross-legged by the coffee table near him.

Paul's eyes were hidden once again behind his Aviator sunglasses. His lips were pursed, and he had the air of a man steeling himself for execution. "Robert called a few minutes ago," Paul informed him solemnly. "We're to join him outside in ten minutes for some kind of canoe trip for breakfast."

"What will he think of next!" laughed Jimmy.

Paul's sombre expression did not change. "I spoke to Blackmore last night."

"You did?"

"While you were asleep. We've come to an understanding." Paul's lower lip seemed to tremble.

Jimmy swallowed hard. Was he going to lose Paul to old Blackmore after all? Paul didn't say anything had happened between them, but the way he was conducting himself told Jimmy there was something going on that Paul didn't want to talk about. He tried to busy himself by getting dressed. Had Ritchie chased Paul down like an African cat bringing down a kill?

The ride down to the lobby on the elevator was tense and silent. Paul slumped against the wall of the elevator, one hand thrown over his brow as though in despair. Jimmy twitched a bit. Today was Robert's wedding, they only had to make it through a few more hours of this farce, Jimmy told himself. Then they'd be free for Paul to elope with Ritchie if that's what he wanted, and for Jimmy to go home and be alone in his creaky old house and the piles of nonsense he'd bought to bring color and meaning to his wasted life. The bitter taste in his mouth was almost unbearable.

A buff man in a grass skirt met them in the lobby and led them out to a lagoon. Robert and Jessie were waiting for them on the small dock. "Pagey, yoo hoo!" called Robert, waving at them. "Over here!" He flounced up to them and threw his arms around Jimmy. "It's my wedding day! Oh, this is just the best day of my life! And I get to spend it with the two best people I know." He made lovey eyes at both Jimmy and Jessie, somehow simultaneously.

A deep groan of resentment rose from somewhere behind Robert. "It's like I might as well have not bothered to come," grumbled John Paul Jones.

Robert and Jessie glided off in their canoe, followed shortly by Jonesy in his canoe, each boat manned by it's own buff man in a grass skirt. Jimmy eyed his canoe with some concern. He considered asking for a lifejacket, but that would ruin the aesthetic Robert had worked so hard for. He let the buff man help him into the canoe and sat down next to Paul. They were squashed together.

As the buff man began paddling them along, Paul seemed to find some core of strength inside himself. He turned to Jimmy and said, "It's not too late. I think you should be honest with him, and tell him how you feel."

Jimmy blinked at him in astonishment. "What in the blazes are you on about?"

Paul's voice shook with emotion. "Robert. You should tell him you love him, before it's too late."

"Robert knows very well that I love him," said Jimmy, still not cluing in to what Paul was getting at. "He knows everyone loves him. That's the point of being Robert Plant."

"No! Tell him you're in love with him!"

"Why would I do that?!" Jimmy pulled a face.

Paul gaped at him. "You're... not in love with Robert?"

"What gave you that idea?"

Paul sputtered, "This! All of this!" He made hand motions that seemed to indicate the hotel, the lagoon, and possibly the boat's paddle. "This whole mad scheme you've dreamt up to try and make him jealous by pretending that you and I are lovers!"

"I meant nothing of the sort," insisted Jimmy. "I didn't want to make Robert jealous, I just... couldn't bear for everyone to pity me for coming alone. That's why I brought you, because... no one would think I was pitiful if you were by my side..." He struggled to get the words out, searching desperately for the right way to express himself.

Paul looked like he was about ready to faint. "But you said the two of you slept together."

"Oh, that." Jimmy made a soft, dismissive sound. "We tried to, once. Yeah. Back in '74, '75. Whenever it was." It all blended together in one cocaine-fueled blur. "I couldn't even get his trousers off, Paul."

"I can't believe this," said Paul. "You made it sound as though you knew all about homosexual sex." The buff man in the grass skirt was now giving them some very odd looks.

"Well, what about you!" Jimmy went on, getting up from his seat to wobble precariously. He gesticulated wildly, the emotions usually kept hidden deep within spilling to the surface. "You were talking this morning as though you and Blackmore had an understanding. I was imagining you'd let him ravish you on the beach or something."

"Wait, are you..." Paul squinted up at Jimmy. "Are you jealous of Blackmore? Do you want to make love to me on the beach?"

"Not on a sandy beach where salt gets in your eyes!" Jimmy fought to keep from stumbling over his own words. "In a bed, and it would be romantic and soft and perfect and..." The boat pitched wildly. He heard the buff man in a skirt give a shout, but it was too late; Jimmy tried to adjust his weight but he over corrected, and he felt the terrifying sensation of his feet flying up over his head as he fell backwards into the lagoon. He stared up in shock as the water sealed over his head.

This is it, thought Jimmy. I'm to drown without ever even kissing Paul Rodgers. What a waste his life had been.

The surface of the water broke again, as Paul Rodgers came crashing through. Bubbles poured from the corners of his mouth as he swam his way down to Jimmy. As though in a dream, Jimmy reached out his arms to him, sluggishly. Paul's hands clamped around his wrists.

They surfaced, Paul sobbing his name. "Jim! Jim! Stay with me!" They might have sank again, but the buff man in the grass skirt joined them in the water, helping Paul lift Jimmy and keep his head up. Together, they swam for the nearest bank. Shouts came from further down the lagoon; Robert, Jessie, and Jonesey were paddling frantically towards them.

Jimmy was laid on the green grass of the bank. His eyes were closed. He lay as though dead. Paul pumped at his chest. "Please stay with me," he pleaded.

Paul threw himself on him, pinched Jimmy's nose shut, and sealed his lips to Jimmy's. As he prepared to blow the breath of life into Jimmy, he was taken aback by the remarkable sensation of being kissed.

Wordlessly, Paul drew back and stared down at him.

A weak smile graced Jimmy's face. "I've always wanted to do that."

"I thought you were going to die," said Paul.

Jimmy pulled him back down for another kiss.

Robert's hysterics made the whole situation worse than it was. He wailed and wept upon Jessie's bosom. He tried to call off the wedding to take Pagey to hospital. Jessie started weeping, and anyway, Jimmy flatly refused to go to any doctor. He'd hardly even swallowed any water. They dried Jessie's eyes and somehow Jonesy convinced Robert that the best thing for their shattered nerves to do was carry on with the wedding.

Jimmy would later see photographs of the ceremony, printed in magazines the world over, but he barely remembered any of it. Jessie and Robert said their vows and then everyone got to sit at tables and make toasts and say complimentary things to the bride and groom. Jimmy didn't care a whit, except that he was sitting beside Paul. He waited till all the attention was on Robert and Jessie smashing cake into one another's faces to pull Paul down to their hiding place under the table.

"You saved my life," Jimmy whispered to him. "How can I ever repay you?"

"I'm sure I can think of something," said Paul, nuzzling his neck. He paused and asked Jimmy very seriously, "So you never loved Robert?"

Jimmy smiled dreamily at him and shook his head.

"Do you want to kiss me again?"

Still smiling dreamily, Jimmy nodded his head.

Ritchie Blackmore stood a ways off, down the beach, observing the ceremony. He thought about Paul, and wondered if he'd ever stop desiring him. It seemed unlikely.

John Paul Jones came ambling down the beach, undoing his tie with one hand while holding his champagne flute in the other. "Blackers! Fancy seeing you here. I can't stand that lot another moment. All that kissing and such." They stood together and watched as Robert and Jessie swayed together during their first dance. Paul and Jimmy popped up from beneath the table, looking rumpled and pleasantly flushed. They were holding hands.

"I s'pose you and I are the odd ones out," said Blackmore thoughtfully.

Jonesy cast him a sideways look.

Blackmore eyed him up and down.

After several long moments, they said in unison: "Nah."


End file.
